


The love light in your eyes

by SJWin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, SamSteve Gift Exchange, Samsteve - Freeform, my first fic on ao3!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJWin/pseuds/SJWin
Summary: Sam helps Steve know the meaning of beautiful again, and couldn't be happier to be along for the ride.





	1. Steve: well who could blame him?

**Author's Note:**

> For colorfulcandypainter on tumblr!
> 
> I was gonna do a chapter 3 but overwatch took over my life 

If you were to ask Steve Rogers what the definition of beautiful was before he crashed the Valkyrie, he might have told you something like _Brooklyn Bridge at night in the winter_ or _my mother’s smile_ or even _Peggy Carter in a red dress with a warm smile on her face._ Now though, after the war, after losing his best friend, after waking up and seeing what the world had become while he slept in the ice, he was having trouble seeing the beauty in anything. He left New York because it had hurt to be in a place so familiar and yet so foreign; it was a harsh reminder of everything he lost. He thought that going to DC would be better for him, he’d be working at SHIELD, he could see Peggy at her nursing home whenever he wanted (he tried to go at least once a week, it was difficult sometimes, but she had stretches where she was lucid for a while and it was so good to see her), and he could try to build himself some kind of decent life.

Turns out, it’s surprisingly hard to make friends or find someone worth making time with when everyone’s been reading about you in history books for 70 years and think they already know you. It was definitely flattering, and he was always happy to sign autographs and take pictures for fans, but it was hard to feel like he really belonged when everyone treated him like Captain America all the time, when he just wanted to be Steve. When he first got the serum, Steve was happy to be able to eat without worrying he’d end up sick to his stomach for days, to run outside just for fun and not worry about having an asthma attack or his heart giving out, and drawing- drawing was the best. Seeing the world in full color with none of the blurriness he’d been living with all his life had made his art feel like it was alive and he’d filled dozens of sketch books on the road with the USO tour. He’d draw the chorus girls, Peggy, Bucky, his ma, snippets from whatever the view was outside his window in this week’s over-priced fancy hotel. Then later, in the war, he’d draw all the Howlies, all the landscapes across war-torn Europe, more Peggy, silly comics; any downtime he had, there was a pencil or a piece of charcoal in his hand.

Now that he had access to an endless supply of the best materials to work with, Steve couldn’t even draw a stick figure. He’d sit and stare at his empty sketch pad for hours. Nothing seemed to bring him joy anymore. It made him feel extremely ungrateful for everything he’d been given, but he couldn’t seem to shake himself free of the endless melancholy. At least his morning run always reminded him he was alive, and DC really was a beautiful city.

One particular morning, Steve really didn’t want to get out of bed. He looked over at his alarm: 4:45am. He always got up that early, and tried to have a small breakfast and be out the door for his run by 5:00. Today though, he just wanted to rest. 5 o’clock rolled around and he still couldn’t get back to sleep. 5:15 saw him still tossing and turning, so he decided to just lace up his shoes and run until he couldn’t see straight, however long it took. In a fortunate turn of events, he ended up running past Sam Wilson that morning. As he passed by, he tried not to notice the strong muscles in his thick legs, the way the baggy sweatshirt did nothing to hide his bulky shoulders, and that smile- Steve had to speed up after his cursory “on your left” when Sam had politely smiled and nodded at him- it almost made him lose his balance right there. And if Steve had changed his route just so he could pass by a few more times to get that view again, well… who could blame him?

Flirting with a man outside, in broad daylight, at the DC Mall had not been something Steve had ever considered himself capable of doing, and yet. There he was. His trip to the VA later in the week had certainly been enlightening, as had the dinner he and Sam had picked up after his shift was over. By the time the meal ended, the two were talking and laughing like they’d known each other for years. It was the best Steve had felt in a long time. And later that night when he’d taken Sam home and kissed him good night on his doorstep, Steve thought maybe the 21st century wasn’t all bad. He’d been a gentleman and gone home right after, promising to call Sam and set something up for his next day off work. He picked up his pencil that night and drew the Washington Monument reflected in the pool at sunrise. It turned out ok, not his best work.

Of course, the events of the next week (and nearly dying) had certainly put a damper on his new-found good mood, but Sam was sticking around, so it had its up sides. After a few days of rest and sending Natasha off, they had decided to dredge up every lead they could possibly find on Bucky or the Winter Soldier or Hydra. They’d hopped a flight over to Europe and were blazing their way through Hydra bases left and right for a few months when Steve had started seeing signs of fatigue in Sam. He knew Sam would never mention it, but Steve could hardly blame him for being tired and homesick, even if he had signed on to help. They had just ransacked a base in Moldova, only to find all of the files on the Winter Soldier project either deleted or so heavily redacted they weren’t any help at all. He made up his mind once they’d gotten back to their hotel and turned to Sam, putting one hand on his shoulder and cupping his jaw lightly with the other. “Hey, what do you say we pack it in for a few days?”

Sam sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Huh-uh man, I’m good. You know the longer we wait the colder the trail’s gonna get. We need to hit the next base sooner rather than later.” He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and Steve bent his neck to rest his forehead on Sam’s.

“The trail’s ice cold, Sam. Natasha’s still working a lead, we might as well take some time to rest up while we wait for her to get back to us. Plus, you haven’t called your mom in almost two weeks, I don’t wanna make a bad impression on her before I even get to meet her.” Sam laughed and pressed their lips together in a short, sweet kiss. He pulled back, still chuckling lightly. Steve was immeasurably grateful for every opportunity to kiss Sam and relished the times he could draw a genuine laugh, especially the small, affectionate chuckles bubbling from him right then.

“All right, all right, Captain Guilt Trip. We’ll finish cataloging this trash and I’ll call mama. And I need to do some adjustments on the wings, I’m pulling to the left sometimes so I think they need some TLC and calibration before we get back to kicking Hydra ass.” Steve smiled and ran his hand down Sam’s face to his arm, squeezing his hand before pulling away and organizing the paper files laid out on the bed.

The next afternoon, Sam had closed his pack up after making all the necessary adjustments and asked Steve to go with him outside the city to test things out. Steve didn’t need much convincing, and even decided to make an evening of it. He packed up Sam’s wing repair kit, their emergency first aid kit (just in case), several sandwiches and bottles of wine, a big blanket they’d found that morning at a local shop, and his sketch pad and they walked several miles into the hilly plains.

Steve had laid out all their supplies and was content to spend the next few hours watching as Sam soared over the smattering of trees, flipping, gliding, and diving to his heart’s content. His sketchbook had been filling up more and more over the weeks, in between missions and leads. Always of Sam lately. Sam smiling or laughing, Sam sleeping, Sam running. His favorites were always this though; Sam in his natural habitat. He really did look like a falcon, graceful and serene and just this side of dangerous. Steve smiled to himself as he looked up from his sketch every few seconds to take in more of the gorgeous sight above him.

Happy with his calibration after executing all the basic movements with ease, Sam looked down over at the small speck he could tell was eyeing him from their little camp. He swung his wings around and dove towards the bright red blanket in the sea of green and called out a loud “Hey old man! Look alive!” before swooping in and grabbing Steve by both outstretched wrists. They tangled up together and laughed as Sam flew them around and around, enjoying the adrenaline rush of flight and the closeness of their bodies.

When Sam set them down a few minutes later and stripped out of his sweat soaked t-shirt, pouring most of a bottle of water over his face and chest, it struck Steve that he had a new sight to add to his definition of beauty: Sam Wilson.

And if they ended up completely ruining that old red blanket right in broad daylight in the hills of the Beltsy Steppe, well… who could blame them?


	2. Sam: Understatements

Sam Wilson is a very strong man. He’s no stranger to loss and heartbreak and exhaustion. Losing his father was devastating, but he made it through with help from the rest of his family and his friends and his own strength of will. Making it as a PJ had been extremely taxing, physically and mentally, but with Riley by his side, the two of them not only made it, but they were the best. The best of the best, in fact, which is how they ended up in the EXO-Falcon project. The first time Sam had strapped on those prototype wings and flown the test course he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. Later that night, sitting with Riley and rubbing aloe on their singed calves and sore, chafed shoulders, he couldn’t imagine life getting any better. 

To say that readjusting to civilian life after retiring from the military was difficult was definitely an understatement. Readjusting to civilian life after watching his best friend die in front of him was infinitely harder. Any time Sam had pictured getting out before, he’d always just assumed Riley would be right there with him. Their job was dangerous, of course, but he’d been young and convinced they were invincible. Until they weren’t. Until Riley wasn’t. The funeral had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Everyone knew they were close, that they were best friends, that they meant the world to each other. There was a lot about them that people didn’t know, and now they never would.

The one thing his counselor had recommended above everything else was sticking to a routine, and a pretty rigid one at first. He figured that nothing could be worse than crying silently into his pillow all alone until he was so exhausted he passed out, so he was willing to give it a try. For the first year, he’d gone to one-on-one therapy on Monday and Wednesday and group therapy at the VA on Friday every week. Every Tuesday and Thursday he had classes at the local college. On Saturdays he volunteered with Habitat for Humanity, and Sunday he went to church with his mom and sister. He woke up, ran, and ate all his meals at the same time every day. The structure had felt nearly overwhelming at first- far too much like being in the military and yet so far from it- but after the first few jarring weeks it became comfortable and helpful. After that first year, he’d relaxed it some; he started going to therapy only once a week and then every other week, and had started reconnecting with old friends and making new ones. It was still a struggle, but he was doing very well. He’d gotten a job at the VA and was really happy to be doing something he genuinely loved- helping other people.

The one thing in his routine that stuck around no matter what was his daily run. There was just something about running that really grounded him and gave him strength to face the day, no matter what might happen. He imagined it was what people who were really into yoga felt: calm, centered, energized. He’d always been a morning person, and even in a crowded place like DC, that was apparently pretty rare. Most of the time, he only ever saw another person at the very end of his run, if at all. Today, though, apparently Usain Bolt had decided to grace him with his presence, if the extremely quick paced steps behind him were anything to go by. He looked to the side to see who this try-hard at 0530 could possibly be when a quiet “on your left” met his ears. Sam smiled at the frankly gorgeous man who had just bolted past him. He knew Steve Rogers was supposedly living in DC now, but that couldn’t be him? Right? Sam watched him run off into the distance appreciatively and then refocused himself and cleared his mind.

A few minutes later he heard the footsteps again. Had he doubled back around or something to just to pass him again? No, that was impossible… right? Possibly-Captain-Freakin-America said “on your left” again, a little louder this time, in a way that Sam immediately pegged as flirty. “Yeah on my left, got it,” he replied breathlessly, trying to match the flirty tone but probably landing somewhere more in the neighborhood of annoyed. After another few rounds of this maybe-flirting, Sam had lost his patience and then his breath, and possibly feeling in his legs, and had resigned himself to just maybe dying of exhaustion under this tree. When Steve had come by a few minutes later and introduced himself, every fiber in Sam’s body had screamed FLIRTING. And, well, if he was wrong, then at worst he had a hell of a story to tell.

Later that week, when Steve had actually showed up at the VA, Sam was 100% sure he was right about the flirting. This time, though, he seemed withdrawn- sad even. Sharing his story about Riley was always difficult, but after group it seemed easier, and he knew Steve’s history, everyone did. He had lost his best friend during a different war a long time ago, but they had some common ground for sure. The way Steve politely almost-whispered _sorry_ nearly broke Sam’s heart, but it was quickly abated by the twinkle in his eye that put him right back to their flirty conversation earlier. It had been weighed down with something, but that cute smirk and shy smile made an appearance, even if the conversation had been a little heavy. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he’d asked Steve what made him happy, but it certainly wasn’t “I don’t know.”

He still wasn’t sure why his response had been, “Well, Chinese food always makes me at least a little happy. I get off at 5 if you want to go?” When Steve chuckled and looked down with the barest hint of a blush on his face, Sam was a little worried he was about to get the _thanks but no thanks_ speech. What he hadn’t expected, though, was a quietly stammered, “Alright, it’s a date. Why don’t I… um… get your number in case I run into traffic on the way back?” He was only slightly embarrassed by the urgency with which he’d grabbed Steve’s phone when it was offered, and quickly entered his contact info. Steve took the phone back with another smile and texted him a quick “This is Steve J” so he’d have his number in case anything came up. He politely excused himself with a promise of looking forward to seeing him tonight, and ran into his office.

To say Sam was nervous about this date was absolutely an understatement. He’d been on plenty of dates in his life; he was a very attractive man with a great personality, killer sense of humor, and fun hobbies. Getting a date had never been a problem, before Riley. Now, it was a big problem. A 6-foot-tall, 200-pound, pouty-lipped and gleaming-eyed problem. He looked back at himself in the mirror and smacked himself on the cheeks a few times. _You’re going to go on this date. You’re going to have a great time. He’s just a regular guy. Just like you. It’ll be fine, it’ll be fun. It’s been long enough, Riley would be fine with it, he’d **want** you to move on. You are not a 14-year-old girl, you are being excessive right now.  _ It took a few minutes, but Sam calmed himself down and finished out the rest of the work day. He started getting nervous again as the clock got closer and closer to 5. At 5 on the dot, Steve poked his head into Sam’s office and smiled wide as their eyes met. He had a motorcycle helmet in his hand. “Hey. I brought my bike. I hope that’s ok.” It was absolutely ok.

The date went much better than nearly every other first date Sam had ever been on. Steve was funny and witty and surprisingly dark humored. Sam gave him a few movie and TV show recommendations. They talked about military life, their families, hobbies, anything and everything. It was the most fun Sam had had in years if he was being honest with himself. The food was great and the evening came to an end much too quickly for either of their liking. When Steve dropped Sam off at his house and walked him to the door, Sam took a steadying breath and prepared to tell him that he’d had a great time but wasn’t ready to invite him in for anything more yet.

But then Steve had clumsily taken a step forward, cupping Sam’s cheek, and kissed him soft and sweet. He blushed and stammered his way through a short speech about liking Sam a lot and how much fun he’d had. Sam thought steam might actually start billowing out of his ears from how red his face had turned. Steve asked when he was off work next and they made plans to go out again. And then he walked back to his bike and drove off. Sam kissed the picture of him and Riley he kept framed on his mantle that night and whispered, “I’m trying man,” before heading off to bed, a little lighter than the night before.

Sometimes fate’s kind of funny in bringing people together exactly when they need it most. There isn’t a magic pill or cure all that can “fix” people, and even if there was, Sam wouldn’t want that. What he did want, though, no matter how much he tried to pretend he didn’t, was to fly again. And if he got to help out Captain America and save millions of people while doing it, that was just icing on the damn cake as far as he was concerned. Getting his car wrecked and getting shot at, punched, thrown out of the damn sky, and almost having a building collapse on him was a major tick in the “boo” column, but for the first time in years he felt light and free and filled with purpose.

Following Steve in his quest around the world to personally punch every member of Hydra and get Bucky back was an easy decision. He still wasn’t sure if they’d be able to save him, but for Steve’s sake he hoped they would. If there was even a sliver of a chance that Riley was still out there, Sam wouldn’t hesitate to burn the world down to get him back; So yeah, he could empathize. He also knew that he would never be able to pull the trigger if Riley was the one who couldn’t be saved, so he didn’t want Steve to have to do this alone. The more time he spent with Steve on their trek, the closer they got. It wasn’t that they fixed each other, or even completed each other, they just _got_ each other. And it had been a damn long time since either of them had felt that.

At the end of the (long, dangerous, Hydra-punching) day, it was really incredible to crawl into bed with someone who he knew had his back and loved him to his core. Even when they woke each other up sweating and panicking and sometimes crying every once in a while, it was still incredible.  And those rare days where Sam got to fly around and stretch his wings and playfully lift Steve up into the sky until they were both breathless from laughing? Well, calling those days incredible would be the biggest understatement of all.


End file.
